The Other Side of the Coin
by quantumlevitation
Summary: Rosalind wants out of Columbia, away from Comstock's zealotry. She flees into Robert's world, rather than vice versa.
1. Chapter 1

They had arranged for the transfer to occur at six in the evening, and it was only five-thirty, and the wait was going to kill him, he was quite sure.

He looked around. The lab was as tidy as he could make it without disrupting anything important. Water was on to boil for tea, and he had brought in some pastries that he hoped that she would like. He had bought a bed from a neighbor down the road, and she'd thrown in a set of clean sheets, so those were ready.

He had put the story around that his sister was coming to visit. He hoped, though he did not know, that the woman would look at least something like him, so that the story would be plausible.

The chime of the clock broke him out of his reverie. In the middle of the main lab room the air began to shimmer, and the universe was rent asunder.

Through a grey haze, he saw a woman. She was-he had never imagined himself female, but when he saw her, he knew who she was, and he felt the knowing down to the bottoms of his feet.

She heaved a suitcase through the tear. It took on solid form and bounced off of the floor of the lab. Then she looked at him with a firm resolve in her eyes, and took a clean step through the tear. Her boot gained form first, then her skirts, and then she was through all of the way.

She turned to the tear and counted under her breath. At ten the tear winked out of existence, and she turned to him, extending a hand.

"My name is Rosalind Lutece."

"And my name is Robert."

Their hands touched, her small one in his large, and as soon as their skin came into contact she blanched and passed out, blood trickling from her nose.


	2. Chapter 2

_July nineteenth: after a dull series of trials to confirm that the atom could be successfully entangled (the true core of science is tedium, he thought) on the two hundred and fifty-sixth trial, the Lutece Field began turning on and off without his intervention. He was almost finished for the day, so he blearily wrote it up in his notes and lay down on the cot that he kept in the corner of the lab for such evenings_

_July twentieth: It was happening again. Hating himself for his slowness, he noticed a pattern to it. The precipitous drop of his stomach when he realized that it was Morse Code – his notes were barely readable. Transcribing the dots and dashes. Then, the scrawl indicating that it was saying, of all the things that it could possibly have said: hello._

_He did not know how long he had watched it, shaking – at least twenty cycles – but at last it fell silent. He had been assuming that it was a natural phenomenon, interference from another power source, but the presence of another human being? He reached out with trembling hands and through his excitement manipulated the levers and valves to respond._

_Five cycles. This time the silence was longer. He wondered if his fatigue had gotten the better of him, or if he had, as his mother always predicted, been driven mad by his research. Then it started up again, dreadfully slow:_

my name is lutece

_He signaled back: _that is my name

_A pause. Then _Rosalind Lutece

_He could not signal fast enough. _Robert Lutece

_Without preamble, the power went out in the building, and he was in the dark. It had happened before, as he had done the wiring piecemeal over the course of the years and the building infrastructure was never intended for the kind of power that the machine demanded. _

_He fumbled for the candle that he kept for these occasions and went to investigate the fuse box. As he walked down the hallway, the possibilities of who the woman on the other side of the transmission might be made his head spin, and he laughed out loud as he changed out the whole bank of fuses that had blown. _

_He powered up the machine, and sat down to try again._


	3. Chapter 3

After he had recovered from his shock, he picked her up from the floor of the lab and ran to the house with her. Without much thought, he settled her in his own bed, and started ransacking the house to find clean towels and rags that would serve to contain the blood from her nose. He rolled a towel in a handkerchief and tied it around, and that seemed to serve as well as anything.

He took a wet towel and wiped at her face to soak off the blood that had already dried. Through the panic that he was exerting himself to contain, a thought surfaced: she is beautiful. As he wiped gently at a stubborn spot, his finger caressed the curve of her cheekbone, and this made her cry out and move, trying to roll away from him. Blood gushed and soaked through the first towel, and he replaced it, cursing himself for his stupidity.

He went and found a pair of heavy leather gloves that he wore in winter. He tried an experimental finger down her arm and was relieved to see that she did not respond.

The blood had slowed now, and she seemed to be dozing. He resolved to go as quickly as he could out to the lab and retrieve the valise that she had tossed through

With one final glance at her, he opened the door and ran at top speed to the small outbuilding that housed his lab. He had left the door open, so it was the work of a moment to step inside and find the suitcase to carry it in the house.

He set it on the table and made to open it, then was seized by a sudden qualm of conscience. He walked over to the bed, stroked her arm, and spoke to her in a low voice.

"Rosalind, I'm sorry to have to do this, but I'm going to go through your suitcase to see if I can find something, anything about what's going on here. I know I'd hate if someone did this to me – and if you're like me, you'll hate that I did this too – but I have to take the chance."

He took a deep breath, and opened the latches. The first layer was neatly folded clothing, basic and well-made. As he lifted it out, he was shocked to see that each piece was a feminine counterpart of a piece of clothing that he owned, down to the color of the stitching, though the maker's mark differed. He reddened when he came to the undergarments, but soldiered on, only touching them long enough to move them out of the way.

A few more pieces of clothing set aside revealed what he had been searching for - notebooks, bundles of sketches, technical drawings, a few choice texts. He paged through each, but could not find any reference to an illness caused by inter-dimensional travel or any remedy for it. He racked his brain to try to think of any mention that she had made in their conversations prior to her journey of difficulties that she could anticipate, but he could remember none.

He set all of her things aside in a cabinet, so that there was no chance that they would get ruined or lost, and glanced over to her. She was murmuring, and he went closer to try to hear, but he could only make out a few scattered words.

The sun was going down by this point, so he lit a lamp, cut some bread and cheese and put the kettle on for tea. He realized that he had missed dinner, and it was well past suppertime, and he was ravenous. As he moved around the kitchen, he hummed, nothing in particular, but it had been a habit of his mother's, and somehow it had become a habit of his. In the darkness of the other room, a smile played across the woman's lips, and the blood slowed and stopped, if only for a moment.


	4. Chapter 4

_Returning to the machine, he reaches out for the lever, but does not pull it. The questions that had been hammering at his brain have been replaced by cacophony. A sip of cold tea clears his head a bit, and he pulls over a sheet of paper._

_A few minutes and a few notes later, he starts again._

what is the date

thursday, july 20, 1893. it is ten oh six am.

same.

where are you

columbia

what state

we are a city unto ourselves, but we are above Chicago at present.

_He blinks. _do you mean to the north, or –

no. this is a city suspended in the air with the lutece field.

_He cannot respond. His cheeks are burning, and he realizes tears are running from his eyes. To think that in another world he is responsible for such a thing!_

where is Robert

who

are you robert's wife or lab assistant, _he taps._

_No response, then: _there is no robert here.

_He realizes. _are you a scientist, _he responds._

I am rosalind lutece. _Whatever her other accomplishments, she may be the first to imbue Morse Code with such sarcasm, he thinks. _

you live in columbia

yes. columbia, michigan, _he answers._

what do you do

i teach at a small college.

have you been to the Columbian exposition

last month. it was a marvel

we are above Chicago. the city was launched for the fair. we are selling tickets and gathering investors, as well as residents.

there is no flying city here.

you have not achieved the same as I have. curious.

_Robert is not sure how to take this last comment. To be sure, it stings his pride, and excuses are the first thing to hand when he attempts to respond._

do not despair. my advances have come with the money of a religious maniac by the name of Comstock. this is his city.

I am sorry Robert I must go. I must give tours. I will be back tonight at nine.

_The atom falls silent, if such a thing can be said. He powers down the machine and sits shaking, then starts writing furiously, trying to capture it all before it escapes his memory._


	5. Chapter 5

He opens his eyes, hears breathing t hurt, which he chalks up to his fatigue. He will have to start sleeping in the bed that he had bought for her, though it will be cramped with his tall frame.

He realizes that she has cried out. Its heard her voice since she went unconscious. He runs into the room, where she is sitting up, clutching her leg, eyes filmy with sleep and whatever has been keeping her unconscious.

A good-sized bruise has formed on her shin, about mid-way up. He forgets to be ashamed of seeing so much of her, and touches it experimentally, murmuring to her that itd get some cool water for her.

When he goes to fetch a towel it hits him like a wave of nausea. He staggers back to the table, sits down, pulls up his trouser leg. Nothing, no bruises, just freckles.

He must try it out. Not thinking, he strides over and holds his hand in the column of steam that is erupting from the kettle. No pain, just the condensation. He hears her voice again from the bedroom, and runs in to find her clutching her hand.

**Realizes what she**Im sorry. I had to

**She smiles. d have done the same, don **

**He refreshes the first, gets another. He is not sure if he**Why don

**ve gone entirely over to the things.**No such . I suppose yout have any servants. You

**t know how I **

**s going to have to change, you know. I donre going to be looking after ourselves.**I thought youI had assumed

**He has never seen anything in his life like the look she gives him. It is a blend of imperiousness, pity, contempt, and a hectoring frustration. **

**He finds it in himself to respond, tries to salvage a modicum of pride. ll be happy to get servants. When we can afford them.**I


End file.
